Jukebox Heroes
by Hellhound's Library
Summary: If there's a cursed object, you just know that one of them is going to touch it. Dean will regret that when an absolutely insane Muse decides that she'll only lift the curse if the Winchesters provide her with a little entertainment, and makes their lives a living musical (Hell) in the process.
1. Chapter 1

**Jukebox Heroes**

**Summary: If there's a cursed object, you just know that one of them is going to touch it. Dean will regret that when an absolutely insane Muse decides that she'll only lift the curse if the Winchesters provide her with a little entertainment, and makes their lives a living**** musical (Hell) in the process.**

**Notes: **Inspired by and written for the lovely Hana. I do not own Supernatural, et cetera et cetera. I'm fairly certain that there is no town called Falsewell, Kentucky. I also know nothing about guitars, so… If I've gotten anything horribly wrong, please let me know! Um… I'm bad at these notes.

**Warnings: **Mild language. _PG rating_. A bit of insanity. (This story really shouldn't be taken too seriously, it's all in good fun.) Dean is probably a bit out-of-character at times, I've never quite gotten the hang of writing him, please don't yell at me.

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**Jukebox Heroes**

* * *

**Falsewell, Kentucky**

**1987**

She'd just finished applying her lipstick, a brilliant orange-red named Tomato Soup-er!, when Amy bounced through the bathroom door, all spiked blonde hair and shredded jeans. Amy grinned hugely, wrapped her arms around Kelsey, and, on a peppermint-scented exhale, said 'He came! He actually, like, showed up!' Kelsey could hear music coming from Amy's headphones (The Cure, maybe?) and she squeezed back briefly before disentangling herself from the hug. Amy thumped her guitar case down on the bathroom counter.

'You mean Mikey, right? That's great, Amy! Maybe once he hears you play-'

'He'll fall madly in love with me and whisk me off to foreign lands?' Amy interrupted, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. 'Gawd, I hope so. That would be totally bomb.' The sounds through the door, rumbling voices and clinking glasses, thumping bass from the club's audio system, faded as Amy pulled the door closed and locked it.

Kelsey laughed, and Amy reached out to yank on her ponytail. 'Don't laugh at me, Kels, I saw you staring at Kyle yesterday. He's, like, totally choice.' She giggled. 'Like, we're totally going to get them to, like, notice us. I even bought a new guitar for good luck!' She unsnapped the clasp on her guitar case and popped the lid. 'Isn't it, like, major radical?'

It was pretty rad, Kelsey had to admit, with a body all soft curves and dark shining wood. Not that she knew anything about guitars, that was all Amy's thing. But it sure looked nice. The shine of the fluorescent lighting overhead, reflecting off the polished wood, was almost… hypnotic in a way. It was a total head rush. There was a dark shivery feeling in the pit of her stomach as she reached out to run her fingers over the strings.

Amy was still talking away a mile a minute, something about the guitar being on sale-'the guy at the store, like, seemed totally desperate to, like, sell it or whatever, ya know?'- but Kelsey stopped listening. She pulled her eyes away from the guitar and turned back to the mirror, fixing a smudge of her blue eyeshadow. 'Look, Amy! We're the prettiest girls in here tonight!' Amy's reflection, blonde and pale and smiling, and Kelsey's reflection, long dark hair and eyes like coffee, looked back at them. 'Now stop spazzing and get ready! We're onstage in-' she glanced at her watch,'-eight minutes!'

* * *

The fire started twelve minutes later, the moment Amy's fingers played out the first note on the guitar. The screaming started before the note had a chance to fade from the air.

* * *

**Falsewell, Kentucky**

**Present Day**

Gravel crunched under the tires of the Impala as it pulled up to the burnt-out shell of what was, at one point, a rather popular nightclub. Dean cut the engine off as Sam opened his door, already talking before Dean was even out of the car. 'So the one thing all of the victims had in common was that they were in this building sometime in the week before they died.' Dean had to wonder why the Hell someone would want to spend any time in this falling-down deathtrap, but Sam answered that question with his next sentence. 'Apparently, local cops busted some sort of rave up here last weekend, and six of the eight victims were listed in the arrest reports.'

The story in the papers had caught their eye, eight suspicious deaths in one week's time. The men had all died differently- one from infection, another had gotten crushed by a car in the automotive shop that he worked at- but the body count was too high for it to be random coincidence. And sure enough, Sam had done some digging, and pulled up at least one suspicious death per year, starting in 1987.

'So what're we thinking? Ghost? Witches?' Broken glass crackled under Dean's boots as he moved towards the building, his gun a reassuring line of chilled metal at the base of his spine. He dangled a rock-salt loaded shotgun from one hand, grip loose on the butt of the weapon.

'Well,' Sam shrugged. 'I'm thinking… Maybe a cursed object? Something in here that they all touched. It would seem to fit the pattern. We need to look around, though, get some more information.' He stood in front of the doorway- there was no door- and peered into the gloom of the building. Outside, the sun burned hot and strong against the back of his neck, but the light had trouble shining through holes in the roof, as cloaked with ivy as they were. Dean and Sam flicked their flashlights on and stepped inside, Dean leading the way.

The interior of the building was cool and dark, much more spacious than it had looked from the outside. Dean could feel spiderwebs brushing across his face as he wandered deeper in.

'Hey, Sammy, why don't you get in front? You can clear out these cobwebs for me.'

Sam snorted. 'Don't think so. Just keep an eye out for… something suspicious.'

'This whole damn place is suspicious,' Dean mumbled. His foot caught a beer bottle, and it clattered across the floor, smashing against the far will with a tinkle of glass, the sound echoing through the room. Sam winced at the noise. If there was anything here, it almost definitely knew they were coming now.

'Yeah, I know, but just… Don't touch anything, Dean, okay?'

'C'mon, Sammy, I'm not _that_ dumb.'

* * *

An hour later, they'd combed through nearly the entire building, and there was no sign of anyone or anything unusual. Just a scattering of cigarette filters, empty beer bottles, and a lingering smell of old piss. The only place they hadn't checked yet was the-

'Basement,' Dean said, motioning towards a door with his shotgun. 'If there's anything here, it's in the basement.' The door swung open, surprisingly silent despite the rusted hinges, and Dean tested the first step with his foot. 'Probably going to collapse and kill us,' he muttered.

There was absolutely no light in the basement, and their flashlights didn't illuminate much. Except. Sam's light had sparkled briefly off of something in the corner. Dean shifted his grip on the shotgun and crept- there was no other word for it- towards the flicker. Sam aimed his flashlight in the other direction. The basement was one large square room, nowhere for creatures to hide, and entirely empty, except for one overturned cardboard box full of smashed bottles of bourbon.

'Hey, Sammy, check this out!' The beam from Dean's flashlight lit up the guitar that was propped in the corner, with a body all soft curves and dark shining wood. 'How stoned do you have to be to leave something like this here? This is a freakin' old-school Les Paul!' He reached out his hand.

'Dean, don't-!'

Dean's fingers brushed the guitar, there was a faint vibration of the strings, and from somewhere overhead came the definite sound of a door slamming shut.

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**END Jukebox Heroes Part 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **Um, I still don't own _Supernatural_.

* * *

**Jukebox Heroes**

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'What the Hell-?'

'Damn it, Dean!'

Sam cursed and sprinted towards the stairs, Dean close behind him. They raced upwards, their footsteps echoing through the basement. Sam stumbled on the last stair, and Dean gripped his upper arm and pushed him through the doorway, following with his shotgun at the ready. The building seemed even darker than before, and Sam looked up towards the ceiling, trying to figure out what had blocked the sunlight from filtering through the holes in the roof. 'C'mon, Sam, move,' Dean snapped from the doorway to the next room.

They turned the corner and Dean stopped abruptly, Sam colliding with his back. 'What the Hell?' Dean exclaimed again, more vehemently than the last time. He stared, and Sam, looking over his brother's head, stood stunned. Everything had changed- what had once been a burned-out husk was now an elaborate theatre-themed nightclub. Where once there had been no people- and why would there be, in an abandoned building- there was now a small crowd, people sitting at tables, people leaning against the walls with cigarettes in hand, people seated on stools that were clustered around the bar, sipping beers or cocktails.

No, Sam realized, not people- ghosts. They flickered, like staticky reception on an old television, fading and reappearing. 'Dean, we need to get out of here.'

'No kidding.' Dean edged along the wall, keeping it to his back, keeping his shotgun pointed out towards the apparitions. Not that there were anywhere near enough rock-salt shells if they decided to attack. But they ghosts didn't seem to notice them, or to care that they were there. In fact, Dean realized, they seemed to be going through the motions without any cognizance. Death loops? And what had killed them all, then trapped them all here?

'Dean,' Sam muttered, 'something's not right here.' He'd noticed the same thing. Not one of the ghosts in front of them had so much as glanced in their direction. Dean was nearly to the door to the outside now, a door which had appeared where there was nothing before. He reached behind him for the knob, realizing, with a sick jolt in his stomach, that there wasn't one. There was no way to open the door from the inside. Sam was running his hands over the wood with disbelief.

'Sammy, break the glass,' Dean commanded, still watching the beings in front of them for any signs of attack. Sam pulled off his flannel and wrapped it tightly around his hand and forearm before punching through the window pane next to the door. Or at least attempting to- his hand bounced off of the glass, and if it hadn't been wrapped in fabric, his hand would probably be broken. 'Sam, hurry up. I want out of here ten minutes ago.'

'I'm _trying_,' Sam snapped, pulling his fist back again.

There was a sudden squeal from the nightclub's sound system. 'Um, like, it's not gonna open, or whatever?' a female voice said, coming from the speakers clustered near the ceiling. 'You, like, can't get out that way.' Sam spun around, gaze lighting on the stage area, where a small blonde girl was waving enthusiastically at them. 'Hello, everybody, we are Amy and the Stardust, thank you for, like, coming out to see us perform!' There was still no reaction from the ghostly audience. The girl shrugged, made a dismissive gesture, and vanished from the stage, reappearing in front of it.

'Hey, lady,' Dean snapped, marching towards her, 'what the _Hell_ is going on?' The hand not holding the shotgun was clenched into a fist so tight that his knuckles were white. 'You seem to be the only person around here who's not completely brain-dead, so I want some damned answers!' The girl's eyes were large and startled, and she stammered something as he got closer.

'Like, um, didn't you know...? You, um, must've touched the guitar. Like, I totally have nothing to do with this whole, like, locked-in thing, okay?' She looked like a delicately-built blonde-haired Joan Jett, but she talked like a Valley Girl. She also talked a lot. She was still yammering nervously as Dean approached her. 'Usually she just, like, kills them, but maybe she, like, likes you guys or something? I dunno, but, like, whatever. She's kinda crazy, ya know? Kelsey and me have, like, been here for a while, she... um, won't let us leave? To get to Heaven or whatever?' She kept inching back until the heel of her boots hit the edge of the stage. 'Don't hit me!'

'He's not going to hit you,' Sam intervened, stepping between his brother and the girl, glancing warningly towards Dean. 'He's just upset. I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean. Can you tell us how to get out of here?'

'I told you, she, like, won't let you leave,' the girl said, relaxing slightly now that Dean seemed less likely to attack her, although her eyes kept flickering towards him. 'Me and Kelsey have been here for thirty years, and-'

'Who is _she_?' Sam interrupted. 'You keep saying _she_ won't let us leave.'

'Um, Euterpe, duh. Like, follow me, I bet she wants to meet you guys anyways,' she said, turning towards a hallway partially concealed by the stage. 'I'm Amy, by the way,' she told them over her shoulder. The back of her jeans were just as ripped-up as the front, Dean noticed as he followed her down the dimly lit passage. In fact, he bet if he tilted his head _just so_, he would be able to see her underwear.

'What _are_ you doing?'

'Nothin'. Not a thing.' He paused. 'Betcha they're pink,' he muttered under his breath.

* * *

Euterpe, it seemed, was a tall, voluptuous black woman with a wild mane of curly hair and a penchant for gaudy gold jewelry. They found her reclining on a red velvet chaise lounge in a sumptuous Grecian-styled room, with tall fluted white columns and swaths of golden silk. She was surrounded by shirtless young men bearing platters of fruit and jugs of wine, or fanning her with large palm fronds. Sam found it rather distasteful, but Dean seemed as though he were going to start laughing at any second. Amy had left the room, after giving Sam a reassuring smile, and then pulled the door shut behind her.

'I am Euterpe,' she informed them haughtily, 'the last one remaining of the nine Muses.'

'A _Muse_? You mean like in Hercules?' Dean interrupted.

'Dude! Really, _that's_ what you think of? _Hercules_?'

'Don't give me that look, Sam, that was a damn good movie. And that Megara chick was smokin' hot.'

'She was a _cartoon character_.'

'Yeah, but still, she had those hips-'

'Be quiet.' Euterpe's voice was cold. 'I did not bring you here to argue.'

'Why the Hell, exactly, _are_ we here?' Dean snapped. ''Cause it sure isn't because we chose to be.'

Euterpe shot him a withering glare, motioning for one of the serving boys to refill her goblet. 'You are here,' she said, 'because you are the Winchesters. With you in my realm, I shall be the envy of the other gods. That arrogant bitch Athena, for one, has been dying to get her hands on you. She wants to make her pawns in her grand scheme, although I have no idea what use she thinks you'll be to her.' She gave them a razor-edged smile. 'I merely want you to... _entertain_ me.'

'Screw that,' Dean snarled, spinning on his heel and marching towards the door. 'We're out of here. C'mon, Sammy, we're leaving.' Euterpe vanished from her lounge with a flash, reappearing in front of the doors. She waved her hand carelessly, and Dean was flung against the wall.

'Dean!' Sam shouted in alarm. Dean sat up slowly, shaking his head, disoriented.

'No,' the Muse said maliciously, the razor-sharp smile still in place, 'I don't think you'll be leaving after all.'

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**END Jukebox Heroes Part 2  
**

**End Note:  
**Euterpe really is the name of one of the Greek Muses, and she is the one associated with music.


End file.
